


Seriously

by Giggles96



Series: Never Say Never [1]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:39:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2159340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giggles96/pseuds/Giggles96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to land a wealthy client, Mike ends up assisting Louis for the day. It doesn’t exactly go to plan and Harvey is far from impressed - read: more upset than anyone - including himself - ever would’ve guessed. One-shot. Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seriously

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**Seriously**

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**Summary:** In order to land a wealthy client, Mike ends up assisting Louis for the day. It doesn't exactly go to plan and Harvey is far from impressed - read: more upset than anyone - including himself - would've thought. One-shot. Fluff.

 **A/N:** I am hooked. This is, like, the third suits fic I've written in the past week, and I'm working on _another_ one. That's gotta be unhealthy, right? I'm telling ya, it's really eating into my time. The last one was… um, a little grim, to say the least, so I thought I'd fluffen (and yes, I'm really going with that) things up a bit with this. Enjoy :)

 **Disclaimer:** _none of these characters belong to me. I apologise in advance for foul language._

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**Friday**

****-0-o-0-o-0-** **

**7:00**

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* * *

First of, let it be known that he, Harvey Specter, - despite the embellished evidence to the contrary - does not, under _any_ circumstances, care about anything or anyone beyond the frontiers of his own immediate needs.

He is, and always has been, a smooth-talking, egotistical bastard.

Rich, flourishing, a fine-looking bachelor in his prime - _of course_ , he is.

It makes sense then, to ascribe that tinie, _tiny_ , so-trifling-it's-hardly-even-worth-mentioning, er, _freak-out_ today to an unfortunate, brief lapse in judgement - a fluke, if you will.

He won't go so far as to say _temporary insanity_. But close.

Whether it was low blood sugar from skipping lunch or a, let's see, ah, 24-hour bug of some kind, Harvey cannot possibly be held accountable for his actions when the actions in question are so remarkably astray from the renowned convictions of his character, that it is ridiculous to entertain the belief that they occurred of his own violation, free from the influence of something that has yet to be isolated.

He's the best damn closer in the city - surely he can convince people that his ill-timed little reaction - _over_ reaction, a voice tiresomely similar to Donna's cheerfully tweaks - had nothing whatsoever to do with him? Screw actuality, his hard-earned reputation is at stake. Witnesses be damned.

Or if not people, then… himself.

All things considered, Harvey thinks that, maybe, - upon further reflection - it could have been worse.

Which, admittedly, does nothing to improve the condition of his heart that's been hammering unrelentingly since this whole ordeal began - yet more grounds to plead not guilty.

Because Harvey Specter doesn't _do_ fretting, and he's got to be the farthest thing from over-protective, or _any_ form of protective, in any case.

… Right?

Still, as he stands, overlooking the expansive city while he nurses a tumbler of exceptionally smooth scotch, Harvey can't refrain from detecting the lingering tremors coursing through his pallid hands with knitted brows, nor can he ignore the sneaking disquiet that continues to catch him by surprise.

No, Harvey Specter doesn't care.

In the furthest regions of his mind, a certain blonde associate scoffs.

_Not in the least._

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**Thursday**

**-0-o-0-o-0-**

**5:32**

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* * *

"Let me get this straight." He crosses his arms over his chest and dauntingly draws himself up to full height. "You're seriously asking for permission to work for _Louis_ for the day? What, did he bride you with candy? Offer some pot to win you over?"

Huffing a breath of disbelief, Harvey shakes his head minutely and roughly wipes his mouth in exasperation. "And here I thought you, _'possessed a smidgen of integrity and felt concern for other's suffering, unlike certain self-seeking jerkwads.'"_

Sliding his hands into his pockets and leisurely walking around the room, Harvey smirks and recalls with misleading fondness, "Now that was one memorable hissy fit. You remember that, don't you? How you sulked for the entire afternoon because I wouldn't let you eat M&M's and skittles alone for lunch when it was _'imperative that you acquired some right away, before you collapsed as a result of sugar-deficiency?_ ' Now, does that sound like someone that I should take seriously when they proclaim something is of vital importance?"

_Not really, no. But in my defence, I was experiencing some horrific symptoms of withdrawal!_

"And while I'm on the subject," the older man muses, "You might want to re-evaluate how integral empathy is to your disposition, since that's certainly not a trait that's going to be looked upon too kindly by someone as apathetic as Louis."

"You're getting off topic _and_ twisting my words," Mike grunts, throwing his head back and loudly groaning, before the full extent of his words register and he snaps upright. Jerking back a little, the young man indignantly points out, "And I won't be working _for_ Louis. I'll be working _with_ Louis. There's a difference. A ginormous-"

"Not a word-"

"-hugely significant difference. This isn't me betraying you, Harvey. This deal seems incredibly promising. A client like this could be a huge asset to the firm. The profit we stand to make alone…" He trails off. Harvey's entire body is tensed, strides slowing, and Mike can see that he has no chance of persuading him if he keeps this up.

Right. A win for Louis amounts to a considerable lose for him. In gloating privileges, at any rate.

"Look," Mike's voice turns pleading, "He asked for my help. What was I supposed to do? Turn him away?"

"As a matter of fact, yes!" Harvey barks. "That is exactly what I expect from you, as _my_ associate." With a tight-lipped smile, he adds with heavy sarcasm, "Or is that too complex for your infantile mind to comprehend? Need me to jot it down for you? Hold your hand when you cross a street while I'm at it?"

"You don't get it," Mike huffs, swiping a hand angrily at his eye. "He governs _all_ of the associates, Harvey. Truth is, I have very little say on the issue, anyhow, which, yeah, sucks. But what can you do?" He shrugs stiffly. "I should be grateful he had the courtesy to pose it as a favour rather than pulling rank, which he will undoubtedly do if I refuse!"

Harvey pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes briefly.

"Tell. Him. No."

"Oh?" Mike juts out a chin defiantly, blue eyes bright and fiery and completely averse to backing down. "Like it's that easy! I might as well just stalk right up to him and tell him to go fuck himself for all the good it will do me, and for what?" He throws his hands in the air. "A grudge? Pettiness?"

"It's a matter of loyalty!"

"We're talking about _one day_ , Harvey. You needn't worry. I'm not going to suddenly switch to the dark side." Mike pauses, pursing his lips and tilting his head. "Well… unless they have cookies."

Harvey sighs. "Could you be serious for one moment, kindly stay on track and pull the plug on the silly t-shirt references?"

"Star Wars, actually," Mike corrects, risking a smile. "You know," his voice drops as he murmurs theatrically, "' _Come to the dark side_?' The cookie part came later."

"As delightfully informative as that may be, kid, I don't give a damn. The answer is still no."

Ah, but he's softening.

"Cut me some slack, will you, Harvey? Please?" His large eyes widen impossibly further, brows scrunched together in a way that is in fact somewhat endearing, and Harvey is suddenly uncomfortable. "I promise it's only a one-time thing." Are his - The older man is pulled up short. Are his lips honestly _trembling_? "Pinky promise?"

Harvey's not sure why he's surprised. He should have known the puppy would perfect the pitiful puppy-dog look sooner or later. Or it probable that Mike had nailed it long ago and it's only now he's actually being affected by it?

God, he hopes not.

"What are you?" Harvey chuckles. "A kindergartner?"

"Is that a yes?"

"You look ridiculous. There's no way in hell I am shaking your little finger-"

"Really? You're sure?" He hopefully bites his lip.

"How many times must I tell you about the impact exercising even a modest amount of class can have? God, rookie, have you no self-respect-"

Mike fist-pumps the air. " _Yesss_! I swear, you won't regret this!"

"-If any of the higher ups find out I hired an idiot who honours the sacredness of a damn pinky promise, I'll be discredited for life-"

"I've gotta go prepare what I'm gonna say to Mr Sanders." He beams. "Man, this is gonna be awesome!"

As Mike plucks his things from where he'd discarded them earlier on the couch and dashes in a mad hurry out of his office, Harvey finally allows his lips to curve, while his eyes crinkle in amusement.

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**Friday**

**-0-o-0-o-0-**

**11:03**

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* * *

Everything is set up for the big meeting.

The documents have been organized, two separate contracts have been drafted up, he's run through his lines over a hundred times in his mind, craftily developed indisputable points for every argument.

Nothing can possibly go awry.

Mike swallows.

… _Except_ for the itsy _bitsy,_ negligible little hitch in an otherwise perfect plan.

This week has been… draining, to say the least, with everything that could have gone wrong doing so with mind-bogglingly dire timing, whether it be the photocopier jamming when he should have had those files on Harvey's desk over an hour ago, his laptop crashing in the middle of typing up a crucial indenture, or - and this is his personal favourite - nearly getting their asses handed to them in court by some bloodsucking douche-bag all because Mike neglected to investigate their client's dating history, which totally blew up in their faces.

It was only because Harvey is, well, _Harvey_ that he managed to salvage their case at the eleventh-hour and with virtually no thanks to him.

So, yeah, it's been pretty suckish. One of his more stressful weeks on the job.

It is with this disgraceful track record, that Mike's renewed fear of failure propels him to discount the progressively crisping agony behind his left eye.

 _It's nothing,_ he assures himself, even as the pain greedily reaches out and engulfs the central area of his forehead. _Nothing._ He gives a jerky nod. _Absolutely nothing._

Yeah, right.

It _will_ be nothing, though, by the time he's finished with it. Mike is positive that so long as he maintains the belief that it is all in his imagination, then he will eventually gain control over this ludicrous headache.

There is no way in hell he's screwing this up.

Mike pays no heed to his worsening symptoms, and when the nausea first begins rearranging his entrails, he has the good grace to blame it on nerves.

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**x-x-x** 1:15 **x-x-x**

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* * *

"Mr Ross is an outstanding associate, I can assure you. Only the best of the best will ever handle your case, Mr Sanders. This I can guarantee right now-"

Pining down Louis' voice as he drones on and on is infeasible with his eyeballs reeling from the sunlight the way they are and Mike's attention soon drifts.

"-Here at Pearson Hardman we have extraordinarily high standards and a success rate that is unparalleled-" He tunes in for about two more minutes, before he's quickly swept away once again.

This is not necessarily a good thing as it provides little distraction from the niggling pain in his skull, which he imagines is equivalent to his brain exploding time and time again, and wow, isn't that a grisly image? Not the smartest scenario to conjure up for someone currently flattening their hand against their weak, flip-flopping stomach.

"We've outlined various prospects for the future, which I think you'll find rather satisfactory," Louis boasts, sitting on the edge of the desk and gesturing wildly with his hands as he fawns over the soon-to-be client. It's amusing in a I-want-to-punch-you-in-the-face-so-badly-please-shut-the-fuck-up kind of way. "Hypothetically speaking, if you were to say, I don't know, expand your company overseas, for example, your net worth could potentially increase by over sixty percent-"

The pressure surges - building and building with such intensity that Mike can scarcely bear it.

He breathes roughly, lids slipping half-way closed as the room spins in and out of focus. The black dots in his vision expand - merge together like a dark sheet cast over his eyes as the approaching shadows welcome him in…

And the only thing he can comprehend beyond the forceful throbbing invading his central nervous system, is a voice, an _angry_ voice, coming closer and closer, while he frowns blearily-

A hand suddenly grips his shoulder. Grounding him.

"Mike," snaps an unhappy Louis in a manner that suggests he's asked more than once, a strained smile in place, "The files?"

Nails dig into his skin even in the face of several layers. That takes talent.

"Oh? _Oh_ , yes." Mike shakes his head - _bad idea_ \- and swallows hard against the ensuing onslaught of pain. "Here, I have them right here."

"Any time today would be nice," the other man sings, a gentle warning hanging in the air.

"Give me a second." The words in front of him blur and mingle, and his frown deepens as concentration continues to evade him. The anxious associate grasps a file at random and blindly hopes for the best. "This it?"

Louis stares down at him in a way that has him hunching his shoulder inwards. "Yes." - _Oh, thank God -_ "Lucky guess," he teases, but the underlining threat is hardly a joke.

Tugging on his collar as sweat gathers at the nape of neck, Mike murmurs apologetically, "I am so sorry for the delay, Mr Sanders." His voice is so far away, even to his own ears. "Make no mistake, I'll ensure I'm more organised in the future. Trust me when I say I do not take this opportunity lightly."

The client eyes him in what _might_ be alarm, but it's hard to tell when everything is so blurry. "Young man, are you alright? You are looking a little pale."

_Then why do I feel so viciously hot?_

"I'm fine, sir," Mike assures respectfully. Inwardly cursing himself, he reaches for his glass of water and takes a small sip.

"Are you sure?" Mr Sanders persists, looking worried. "Your hands are shaking awfully bad."

_They are?_

"I-I-" A wave of dizziness overcomes him, and he squints, slurring, "M'good."

_I don't feel so good._

The pain has gotten so bad he doesn't know whether to either puke or scream, or both.

"Mike!" Someone snaps their fingers.

Now that's just rude.

Not getting any response, they hiss, " _Mike_!"

He blinks slowly.

No, better to keep his eyes closed from now on.

Aware on some level that _something_ 's being asked of him, he garbles, "M'fine," with rubbery lips. Sore all over, Mike can feel himself getting light-headed and it's almost a relief.

Then another voice rings out and it's enough to send a jolt through him.

_"What the hell is going on in here?"_

"Uh, Harvey-"

It's at the point that he sways dangerously to one side and tumbles out of his chair.

* * *

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**x-x-x** 1:35 **x-x-x**

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* * *

Browsing a selection of the files required for next Tuesday's court case, Harvey pauses when he notices that one is missing.

Not just any one, either. The exact one that he had been intending to review for possible flaws that had been overlooked. A misinterpreted word or phrase could be devastating, as he knows all too well.

He shuffles through the papers in his grasp once again, which only confirms that it is definitely _not_ in his possession, and that leaves him feeling intolerably vulnerable.

Before he can even ask, Donna's voice hums over the intercom, "The puppy pinched some files from your desk this morning. Poor dear looked a little distracted, too. My guess is he could've easily taken one of yours by mistake."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Harvey mutters, exhaling angrily, as he shoves away from his desk and strides towards the door.

Another message stops him in his tracks. "You won't find him at his desk. He has that big meeting today, remember?"

Smacking himself on the forehead, Harvey groans, "What time did that start?"

"One, if I recall correctly."

He fleetingly glimpses down at his watch and pulls a face. "How long do you think it'll take Louis to close the deal?"

Rolling her eyes at his impatient expression, Donna deduces, "Translation: would it be terribly rude of me to barge in?"

"Basically," he grins.

She wrinkles her nose and deliberates. "Well, he _is_ with a client-"

"But this _is_ exceedingly important-"

Arching a brow, the red-haired woman surmises, "Which surpasses Louis's _'exceedingly important?'_ "

"Naturally."

Donna laughs. "Oh, just go on, then. We both know you've already made up your mind."

With a mischievous smirk, he doesn't deny it.

"Thank-you, Donna," Harvey calls out as he saunters away, and she turns back to her screen, discreetly hiding a smile.

It doesn't take long to locate Mike at conference room 3 - he dropped by the office of that paralegal the pup's so fond of and of course, _she_ knew where the meeting was being held - but as he is nearing the room, Harvey overhears Louis' voice repeat Mike's name in a firm tone that could actually be construed as uneasy and his pace automatically quickens.

When he gets there, he is stunned to find Mike slumped over the table, squashing his cheek against the cool glass, and clutching his hair.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Louis freezes at the sound of his voice - low, and practically growling - while Mike stirs, carefully raising his head and sitting up haggardly.

Harvey starts.

The kid looks dreadful.

Nervously wringing his hands, Louis opens and closes his mouth in shock for a handful of moments before managing an unintelligible, "Uh," He scratches his head and casts a look at a semi-conscious Mike, "Harvey-"

Then, to everyone's shock, Mike suddenly topples to the ground with a thump.

Rushing over, Harvey breathes a sigh of relief to see that he's still awake, if only just. Knowing that attempting to stand will only end in disaster, he kneels down next to him and delicately manoeuvres the young man's head onto his lap, grimacing when the kid lets out a tortured moan.

"What. Happened?" he directs the question - demand - at a hovering Louis and scowls when Mike flinches at the noise. Lowering his voice, Harvey tacks on, concern saturating his tone, "How long as he been like this?"

The junior partner looks completely flabbergasted - both by Mike's condition as well as Harvey's reaction to it. "I-I don't know-" Mike shrinks away from his voice, turning and nuzzling his face into his boss' thigh, and at Harvey's furious glare, Louis whispers, "I swear, he was okay at the beginning. About ten minutes in, however, Mike started acting strange and zoning out. I don't know what's wrong with him."

"I think he's having a severe migraine," the forgotten client quietly breaks in, "My mother used to get them pretty bad. From what I can gather, the poor lad seems extremely sensitive to light and noise. Earlier, I spotted him massaging his temples and at one point, he also appeared fairly close to being sick. I recognise the signs when I see them."

Harvey throws a desperate glance downwards, unsure how to proceed.

"You're sure that's what it is?" he murmurs, unable to repress his sudden panic, causing Louis' eyebrows to shoot up, while his eyes bug out of their sockets. Harvey's about one groan away from checking Mike into a hospital. "He-he," He takes a deep breath, heart fluttering, as he says with difficulty, "He's in a hell of a lot of pain."

"Like I said, this one seems to be at the worst end of the scale."

Harvey frowns at this knowledge, tightening his grip unthinkingly.

He feels so damn helpless.

Noting the tension in Mike's upper body, he faintly requests, "Could you dim the lights, then, Louis? It might help." Louis nods, walking over and flipping the switch.

Cracking open a lid at the unexpected darkness, Mike squirms and snuffles, as he gazes groggily up at his boss.

"H-Harvey?" The tiny, dismal voice filled with sleepy confusion makes the other man's chest hurt. "Wha-what..?"

"Right here, buddy," Harvey smiles, speaking so softly that Louis actually does a double-take.

"H-hurts," Mike whimpers.

"I know it does," the senior partner pacifies in what is awfully similar to a coo, as he breezes a hand through the kid's hair.

A _coo_ , for God's sake!

"Gonna be-" His voice grows faint and he gags, "Gonna b-be s-sick, H-Harv-"

All of a sudden, Mike springs up, retching violently all over himself, which only aggravates his headache and causes him to cry out in anguish. Instinctively, - not caring about their audience in the least -Harvey rubs calming circles on the pup's back, uttering sympathetic words here and there as he feverishly pukes up his guts. "It's okay, kiddo. It's okay. I know. I know."

By the end, Mike is breathing hard, tears dripping from his eyelashes, and Harvey is looking a little frazzled himself.

Falling back weakly onto Harvey's chest, appearing completely and utterly out-of-it, the young man sniffles miserably and clumsily reaches up to wipe his nose with his sleeve. Quickly blocking the action, Harvey lightly taps him on the nose, then teasingly admonishes, "No. Bad puppy." He withdraws a handkerchief from his inner pocket, and holds it to the kid's nostrils. "Blow," he instructs, and winces when Mike's face crumples in pain as he does so.

"There, there," he pats him gently, "All better." But it's not better, as Harvey is all-too-aware, watching Mike give a hushed sob.

Eying the vomit-smeared clothes, Harvey ponders their options for a moment, before turning to the excruciatingly awkward Louis. "Okay, Louis, here's the deal: go make yourself useful and bring Donna up to date on what's happening. Tell her to retrieve my spare suit and bring it here-"

" _Noooo_ ," Mike protests pathetically.

Harvey doesn't even take his eyes off the balding man, promptly shushing the pup while he vaguely brushes fingers through his hair, and continuing, "I'll only need the pants and the shirt, though. Oh, and if you could find a warm blanket or something that would be greatly appreciated."

"Are you _sure_ , Harvey?" Louis double-checks, just to validate that his ears aren't in fact deceiving him. "I mean, it's a lovely gesture and all, but the boy literally _just_ threw up everywhere, and that's a custom-made, italian-"

"Get the damn suit, Louis."

At the dark, muted tone, he nods hastily and darts away.

After several moments of soothingly massaging Mike's scalp in the hopes of easing his pain, - unable to stomach any more of those tired whimpers - Louis finally returns, passing over the sought after items, before reluctantly confronting their neglected client that's being standing back observing the scene with a kind, sympathetic expression.

"That was really sweet," Mr Sanders comments as the junior partner ushers him out of the conference room. "Was that his father?"

By the staggered expression on Louis' face, you'd think he'd suddenly awoken to find himself in an alternative universe.

"Yes," he recovers swiftly, "Yes, it was." Louis doesn't know whether he agrees as payback for all of the teasing he's endured from Harvey over the years (because, needless to say, there is definitely a part of him that finds this entire situation hilarious), or because, against all odds, it's simply the easiest explanation.

Not to mention… anything to secure a client.

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**x-x-x** 2:06 **x-x-x**

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* * *

To Mike's unadulterated horror, his boss strips him down to his boxers and helps him into his pants.

He hasn't the energy to do it on his own and he's too uncoordinated anyhow. Head throbbing beyond belief and getting woozier by the second, his fingers fumble uselessly at the button for several minutes before Harvey loses his patience and steps in, effortlessly completing the intricate task. It is because of this, he reckons, that Harvey doesn't even allow him to attempt to fasten up his own shirt. After peeling off the old, contaminated one and tossing it into a foul-smelling heap in the corner, the other man directs his arms into the sleeves and quickly buttons him up.

"Can do it m'sef."

Harvey ignores him.

Settling the young man against his torso with ease, all the while maintaining a steady hold, the 'heartless' lawyer drapes a fuzzy blanket over and around him and after a while, even begins to gently rock.

Mike, although dazed, is seriously beginning to worry that Harvey's honestly forgotten he's not a child.

It is pretty relaxing, though, he has to admit, and to his displeasure, his eyes soon start to get droopy and he yawns.

"That's right, kid, go to sleep," Harvey whispers, stroking his hair, "It's okay."

As he will later come to vehemently deny, Mike drowsily burrows into Harvey's chest and, - despite still feeling reasonably wretched - there's something so content about this moment that he helplessly closes his eyes.

* * *

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**x-x-x** 5:22 **x-x-x**

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* * *

After Mike had fallen asleep, Harvey seized the opening and carried him to his office, which resulted in some amount of funny looks, but for the most part, he was so concerned with the pup waking up mid-journey, he hardly took any notice.

The absolute joy on Donna's face, though - that was unavoidable.

He had considered calling Ray to take them back to his condo, but decided it was too risky after Donna pointed out how ugly it could turn should they get stuck in traffic.

For the past couple of hours, Mike has been curled up on his couch, snuffling sleepily every once in a while, and Harvey's been holding out the hope that he'd sleep through the rest of it.

It wasn't meant to be, however, as the older man rapidly becomes alerted to Mike's feeble writhing and the sweat breaking out on his forehead.

So it's no surprise when, minutes later, the kid jerks awake, gazing around in naked terror.

Bewildered and taken aback by the pain, Mike bursts into tears, looking younger than Harvey ever could have imagined. He pushes his palms against his temples and, clearly afraid and borderline hysterical, starts yanking on his short strands.

"Hey, hey," Harvey is quick to intervene, "That's enough of that, bud. You're only going to make it worse and we don't want that, now, do we?" He's aware of how patronising he sounds, cadenced tone both soothing and compelling, but Mike's too frenzied to care.

"Sore," he snivels, breathes quickening, "W-want it t-to _stop_ -"

"Mike." He sits down beside him and attempts to lift his chin, but the panic-stricken boy pulls away. "Mike, _look at me_ ," he gently but decisively orders. "You need to calm down, okay? It's gonna be alright. You'll make yourself sick if you keep this up."

"Hurts s-so bad." By this stage, his lungs are performing at an unnaturally rapid speed and Mike is soon gasping.

"I know, champ. I know it's not fair," Harvey says distraughtly, "But I need you to calm down for me, kiddo. Can you do that? Just take a deep breath. Come on, you can do it. Do it for me."

But his words have little effect.

Mike's eyes widen and he pants in horror, "I ca-can't-"

"You can't what, buddy?"

"Can't f-feel m-my h-h-hands." Gazing down at his numbing hands, his wheezing only increases and Harvey knows that if this persists, he's going to pass out.

"That's because you're not getting enough oxygen," he explains rationally, more than a little worked up himself as he frantically rubs the boy's back. "Come on, lean back against my chest and just copy me, okay? Listen to my breathing. Good boy. In and out. It's that simple. You're doing great."

He keeps up the encouraging mantra until his voice turns hoarse, breathing deeply and exaggeratedly, and while at first, it seems hopeless, Mike's cries eventually taper off and he sags in exhaustion.

By the end, all Harvey can think off is getting a nice stiff drink.

With a little more rocking and consoling, the kid almost immediately drops off to his immense relief, and he skilfully extracts himself, heading straight for the liquor cabinet.

* * *

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**x-x-x** 7:30 **x-x-x**

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* * *

Having succeeded in getting Mike to swallow a few pills and with the alcohol pleasantly floating in his system, Harvey is lucky enough for the pain to mercifully subside long enough to transport Mike back to his.

He's not certain how long this migraine could last - it could be up to three days. So he wants to make sure Mike will be alright for purely selfish reasons, like not wanting to suffer through the process of hiring some dim-witted associate as his replacement should something go amiss.

He cares, yes, about _himself_.

And if part of him simply can't stand the idea of Mike crying alone in his dreary apartment without anyone to comfort him, then that's the part he will gladly pretend doesn't exist.

When Mike next comes round, Harvey is happy to see he seems more like himself.

"I didn't destroy our chances of landing Mr Sanders, did I?" Mike remorsefully questions as he pushes the chow mein they'd ordered around with his fork. He hasn't really eaten much, which bothers Harvey more than he'd like, as he scarcely restrains himself from nagging at him to eat a couple more bites.

"No, kid," he laughs. "On the contrary, he was pretty impressed by your dedication. He knows that it wasn't your fault you got a migraine, and he admires that you felt the meeting was so important to soldier through, regardless. Fed right into his ego."

"He didn't-" Mike can't quite contain his disbelief. "He didn't find it unprofessional?"

"Again, not your fault. I'm telling you, the fact that you attempted to carry on anyway earned some serious brownie points." _Also, the fact that you were acting so damn adorable, which I will never admit aloud or think about ever again._

"Does this mean that you forgive me?"

Ah, the kid's sharper than he gave him credit for.

"Yeah, keep dreaming, kiddo," Harvey scoffs, with a casual roll of the eyes. "I still think it was a stupid-ass thing to do. You could have come to me and asked to take the day off, but no, you had to go and play the damn martyr."

Mike scowls. "Nice to know my sacrifice meant so much to you," he grumbles.

"Oh, it meant something alright," the older man declares. "It means that I now know never to trust you to even be ill properly."

"I didn't know there was a proper way to be ill."

"Oh, it's easy. Simply never do any of the things that you did today."

"Haven't you learnt by now?" Mike hitches up a brow and shakes his head in affected disappointment.

A beat, then:

 _"Never let a puppy clean up it'_ _s own mess,"_ he quotes with deadly seriousness, even as his lips threaten to smile. "Isn't that what you always say?"

Harvey smirks. Kid's learning.

"Damn straight."

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_Thanks for reading._

_Please let me know what you think._


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